


Constellations

by beatlejuice2712



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatlejuice2712/pseuds/beatlejuice2712
Summary: They connect like constellations. There are parts of each other’s stories and they refract each other’s light until they sparkle through the dark. They have galaxies stretched out before them. Sirius is the stars, Remus is the moon, and James is the sun. Peter is the black hole that would destroy them all. (Marauders era one-shots)





	1. Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of this was uploaded (a couple of years ago...) to Fanfiction, but I got to around chapter 7, lost interest, life happened, found other things to do, and it slowly festered away as half-begun prompts and snatches of descriptions. Having just finished another re-read of the HP series, inspiration suddenly struck. I decided to resurrect this, upload to AO3, and see if I could get back into it to try and finish it! I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is finally at Hogwarts and finds his new roommates rather curious.

_September, 1971._

The ruby red steam engine pulls out of the station with a last whistle and James doesn’t even bother to hang out of the window and offer his final wave to the shrinking figures of his parents, he’s far too excited.

This is it. He is going to Hogwarts.

Whilst everyone else is at the windows James runs through the corridor of the train, grinning. He’s already stowed his case in the very last compartment in the very last carriage but he’s made his way from there to the engine at the front, exploring, and he’s on his way back now. He jumps over the gap between the two carriages with wild abandon and with the foolish smile still stitched to his face, and as he turns to shut the door between them he hears a cracking of shoe soles on the wooden carriage floor. There’s someone behind him; he’s been caught, and he can feel an embarrassed heat soaking rapidly into his cheeks.

James turns; a tall boy, maybe half a foot taller than James, with wavy charcoal-coloured hair that falls just below his ears, is watching him. He’s got razor sharp features, sky high cheekbones, and there’s a swirling fog misting his eyes. A sneer rolls down the boy’s nose as his eyes rake up and down, taking in James’s thatch of messy hair and his carelessly-laced shoes. His shirt is pressed and pristine- it’s blinding white and it looks like it’s made from crystal- and his trousers are far too tailored for a train ride to school. His shoes are smart, shiny, and as slick as tar. He’s got fine aristocratic features and an air of superiority that makes James feel like he’s suffocating.

James squares his shoulders and stands like his father taught him to; straight backed and proud. He’s trying to be imposing, but the boy is completely oblivious to it. James looks at him again- really looks at him- and notices the way his shirt hangs out of his waistband, how his top button dangles from a thread like it’s been pulled at, and how his trousers bunch at the pockets from where he’s stuffed something- James thinks it might be some rumpled sweet boxes. There’s a ray of sunlight breaking through the storm cloud eyes, and the sneer isn’t a sneer at all. It’s a smirk and it pulls at the corner of his mouth and somehow doesn’t look out of place.

“Cool trainers.” The boy praises. It isn’t derisive or disparaging, he sounds impressed- genuinely impressed. “They’re-” He pauses, rolling the right word around on his tongue until he’s comfortable with it. His eyebrows knit together. “- _Adidas_ , aren’t they?”

James nods. The boy pronounces it _ah-deed-as_ and its endearing but James doesn’t correct him because they’re muggle shoes, and he isn’t entirely sure _he_ pronounces it right, either.

“Are you a muggle?” James asks- he can’t stop himself, but the boy doesn’t seem offended and laughs the question off, shaking his head.

“Why aren’t you waving your parents off?” It’s James’s incessant curiosity that drives the constant questions and he wishes he would listen to his mother for once and hold his tongue, but it’s no use.

If it is rude, the boy is polite enough to ignore it. “Why aren’t _you_?” He counteracts swiftly.

James grins. “Fair point.” He rubs a bit of dirt off his hand onto his cord trousers- where it has come from, he hasn’t got a clue- and holds it out in front of him. It’s how his father greets people and it’s always seemed cool to James. “I’m James.” The boy cocks an eyebrow in curiosity, and James can’t tell if he is about to mock James’s formality or refuse his hand like he’s a diseased outcast.

To James’s surprise, he does neither, but wipes his own hand against the knee of his trouser and grabs James’s proffered hand, sealing it in an iron grip and wringing it enthusiastically. “Sirius.” He replies.

“Like the star?”

“Like a stuffy old relative who donated too many galleons to the ministry.” He answers with disdain, his lip curling back as if he’s smelt something unpleasant.

The door at the end of the train car opens again and excited children fall through, the atmosphere bubbling with their chatter. A girl with fluffy ginger hair shoots past them in an orange blur and they watch the others siding off into the compartments.

“Come on,” James says cheerily, “Let’s get a compartment, quick.”

Sirius waits on the spot, watching James again, but the disdain has disappeared; he seems to be unsure of something, but James can’t for the life of him think what he could be wary of. James turns on his heel and begins to make his way back to the compartment at the end of the carriage, where he has left his case, until he realises Sirius is not following.

“I left my trunk in the one at the end,” James tell him in explanation, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Are you coming too? Or did you leave your trunk somewhere else?”

Sirius hesitates. There’s a crack in his voice and it’s laden with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

James gapes at him in confusion. “About what?” He asks, thoroughly baffled. “About your trunk? Where is your trunk?”

Sirius lifts a small, ebony box from his pocket and on closer inspection James realises it is a trunk- a very tiny, magically shrunken trunk.

“Cool! How’d you do that?” James asks, mesmerised.

Sirius’s face breaks into the widest smile James thinks he has ever seen. It doesn’t quite seem right paired with Sirius’s upper-class, cut-crystal features because it’s slightly goofy and filled with teeth, but James finds it charming and it makes Sirius seem human. He doesn’t even mind that the girl with the copper hair who ran past them earlier has taken residence in his compartment- because he’s here with Sirius, and Sirius seems _ridiculously_ cool. And he doesn’t mind when the slimy boy comes in either and perhaps he is a bit mean to him, but he says it because he’s desperate to impress Sirius, and when Sirius grins at him and joins in and makes him laugh James knows right then that they’re going to be friends. 

* * *

 The sorting begins and Janet Abbot is placed into Hufflepuff, with Balthazar Beatty swiftly following. The third name to be called startles him; a boy steps forward as it is called, and it’s the boy from the train. The one he had got on so well with.

And he’s a Black.

He had said that his family had been in Slytherin, but never did James imagine that he was talking about the Blacks. James’s mother has warned him against them; _twisted, the whole lot of them._ There’s venom lacing every word whenever she speaks of them, the family she hates to mention. She’s never said why she hates them, and James has never met any of them to judge for himself, but he has met his Uncle Marius who’s a squib and who gave James his muggle trainers that Sirius had commented on- James should have known that Sirius was mocking him on the train- but Marius was disowned by the rest of his family and James thinks the Blacks can’t be very nice if they would disown their family.

James knows where Sirius is going to be sorted- the whole school does- so he wonders if there’s any need for the all the pomp and circumstance in this case. It’s a shame, because James thought he seemed all right. How wrong first impressions can be.

He looks over at the Slytherin table- where Sirius will no doubt end up- and sees a number of boys shuffle closer, making a space on the bench in anticipation. A blonde haired girl with the same sharp features as Sirius- perhaps she’s a cousin, James thinks- glares at Sirius with contempt before shifting her eyes to another girl further down, one with heaps of wavy light-brown hair, but she’s looking everywhere except at the boy making his way to the stool.

James thinks of what Sirius asked him on the train, of what house he would be in if he was given the choice- because the Sorting Hat doesn’t let people choose- and after a few moments, as Sirius hops off the stool with a wicked smirk on his face and the whole hall locked in stunned silence, James can’t help but wonder whether Sirius didn’t choose Gryffindor, after all.

He takes his place on the bench and his housemates don’t know what to do- one timidly pats him on the back, a couple stick their thumbs up at him, but most of them stare back at the Sorting Hat as if the rip in its brim will pull open and the hat will let out a hearty laugh, declaring it was all a joke, and that the heir of the Black family should take his rightful place at the head of the Slytherin table.

But such a thing does not happen; the teachers continue with the sorting but there’s a palpable tension in the air and James can only imagine what will be said back in the staffroom after the sorting is over. One overweight professor clad in lurid green check robes is staring agape from Sirius to the Slytherins looking as if he wants to demand a re-sort. Sirius, as he had seemed on the train, is completely oblivious to it all, and when James hears his own name called he strides confidently to the stool knowing the house that he will be sorted into. He will ask to be placed in Gryffindor, just like he suspects Sirius did.

* * *

There’s only four boys sorted into Gryffindor this year, which is the smallest intake anyone can ever remember, so they’re lumped together whether they like it or not.

The first evening is spent bonding in their dormitory. James is first in, the endless ball of energy even at half past eight in the evening, bounding across the beds to find his favourite; he picks the bed in the middle of the three beds along the wall. Sirius opts for the bed beside James’s, closest to the door, because he openly admits with that now-familiar smirk that its most likely going to be him sneaking in late at night after a detention or whatever else.

Peter Pettigrew is short and lump-like, with dark blonde hair and watery eyes, and he looks weak and weedy; James can only guess how such a boy ended up in Gryffindor. But he takes the bed on the opposite wall and he laughs earnestly when James points out that it’s the bed closest to the bathroom; in fact, he seems to laugh a lot which James rather likes. Sirius gives the impression that he might have a tendency to be a little sullen at times, but Peter seems carefree and fun and James thinks it will be nice to have him around to lighten the mood.

The only bed that is left is the one closest to the window; they’d all avoided it because it’s in a draught, but James feels awful when Remus Lupin, the final Gryffindor boy, enters the dormitory and he already looks rather ill- so a draughty bed certainly isn’t what he needs. James is quick to offer to swap, deciding that actually, he thinks he would rather like the bed beside the window, but the boy refuses politely. His eyes are the colour of mud, his hair is mouse brown, cropped short just below his ears, and his complexion is dreadfully pale, but he seems the most ordinary of the lot; he has a tidy beige cardigan, humble belongings, and a genuine smile.

There’s an awkward atmosphere that only James seems able to permeate. They’re nervous and it’s their first night in a new place and James has the confidence that others only dream of. He tells them about himself; about how he received his Hogwarts letter on the morning of his eleventh birthday and was so excited that he tripped down the stairs on his way to tell his parents. He tells them about his mother, who repairs wizard robes in her spare time, and his father, who had worked in the magical transportation department of the Ministry but has since retired. He tells them that he has no brothers and sisters, but he does have three cats and an Owl. He tells them all about his home in Godric’s Hollow, near the church; he tells them how he watches the congregation walk past his house on Sunday mornings and how he can see the cemetery from his bedroom window. 

“I was born in Whitechapel, of course.” He tells them, “But we moved out of London when I was eight, and Dad retired.”

Sirius smiles at this; “small world,” he muses, as he tells James that he is from Islington, which is just around the corner from Whitechapel. James could have guessed as much; there’s something familiar in the way Sirius pronounces things like _water_ and _stairs_ that tells him they were both born within the sound of Bow Bells. Although Sirius’s accent has been carefully cultivated and clipped, his London lilt threatens to seep into his speech the same way James finds his does; he slips into something slightly more working class if he isn’t paying enough attention.

“When they both get started,” Remus would later observe, “They sound like a pair of old wives hanging the washing out, cackling like banshees, talking about things like _apples and pears_ , and _butchers hooks,_ and the rest. Sometimes they can go for hours without uttering a single _‘h’_.”

For now, though, Sirius doesn’t know them well enough to let them in on too much; he says he lives in London, and he mentions he has a brother, and he vehemently denies that he is anything like his family- if there is one thing he wants sorted straight away, it is that. But the Black name is infamous, so what he hasn’t told them they can surely guess.

Peter’s accent is flat and elongated, and he tells them he’s from Somerset. He lives on the plains in a muggle village, but the muggles there believe in all sorts of mystic creatures- which they call superstitions- so he’s been cocooned in magic since before he can remember. He has a little sister named Penelope, but they think she might be a squib. He lives with his mother, who’s a witch, and she raises Garden Gnomes- Peter tells them with a humouring edge to his voice that she thinks they could be a help in the garden rather than a hindrance if they were just nurtured correctly. His father, however, couldn’t see his mother’s point of view- after he was attacked and bitten by a small army of gnomes, he refused to listen to her protestations that gnome saliva was actually very beneficial, and instead called her a mad old coot, stormed out of the garden, and Peter hasn’t seen him since.

At this revelation everyone is at a loss for words. James and Sirius look terrified at each other, and Sirius fakes a yawn.

“Well, it’s been a great evening.” Sirius pretends to stifle. James bites his tongue, willing himself not to laugh. “I suppose we best be getting some sleep.” They slide off their beds and change into their pyjamas in silence.

James has been lying in bed for half an hour trying to get to sleep when he sits up quite suddenly. “Remus,” He whispers into the darkness. “You never told us where you were from.”

He hears the crinkling of bed covers and hopes Remus isn’t asleep already, but he can see his silhouette against the light from the window and he’s pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“We’ve moved around a lot.” Remus replies, but he’s interrupted by a grunting snore from the bed beside the door.

“Noisy git.” James smiles over at Sirius, supine on his bed and dead to the world, and he hears Remus’s quiet laughter in reply. “Where were you born, then?” He asks Remus.

“A village just outside Chepstow.”

James has never heard of it before. “Where’s that?”

“It’s on the Welsh border. It’s beautiful.” Remus replies wistfully.

Well, he doesn’t have a Welsh accent, that’s for sure- because that’s certainly something James would have noticed. His accent isn’t southern like James’s and Sirius’s and even Peter’s, because Remus says _baa-th_ and _glaa-ss_ whereas they’ll say _barth_ and _glarss._ “You moved around a lot?” James prompts.

“Yes. We’ve lived in Gloucester, Ross on Wye, Hereford, Ludlow,” He lists more places that James has never heard of. “Then we moved South beside the sea, and we lived in Tintagel, and Newquay, and-”

“Wait,” James interrupts. “Are these all _muggle_ places?”

Remus nods into the darkness, James see his silhouette move. “Are you a muggle?” James asks.

“My father is a wizard, but my mother’s a muggle.” Then, after a brief pause Remus adds on as if it’s an afterthought, “she’s ill.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Replies James, feeling uncomfortable, and wishing Sirius was awake to join the conversation. “Does moving around all the time help her?”

Remus doesn’t reply straight away and James wonders if he’s been too intrusive- it’s his persistent curiosity that just won’t go away again. “No,” Remus eventually answers.

“So why do you move so much?” James asks, struggling to understand why Remus would move so much, if it just made his mother ill.

Remus lays back down onto his bed and sighs. He ruffles the bedcovers and tucks it up, and James can only just hear his reply. “I wish we could stay in one place.”

For once, James can sense he’s being too nosy, so holds back the barrage of questions he is desperate to ask. He settles back into the bed and thinks of his day; thinks of the other boys in the dormitory. At first, he had thought that Peter Pettigrew seemed dull and slow, but he’s really rather friendly, even if he might put his foot in it sometimes, and James likes how honest he seems. Sirius Black is stuffy and stuck up by reputation of his name- but in actual fact, he’s nothing like that at all. And plain Remus Lupin, who had seemed like the most straightforward of the bunch, is an enigma that James is content on cracking.

He had been right earlier; how wrong first impressions can be. James is just glad that he has seven years ahead of him to get to know them, because none of his roommates are what they appear to be at all.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius knows the name Potter, but he doesn’t know James.

_September, 1971._

The boy’s a ball of fire, as frenzied as his birds-nest hair.

It’s a quiet appraisal as Sirius watches him jump between the train carriages and he wishes he could wear such a wide smile and be quite that carefree. But that is not becoming for heirs to pureblood fortunes- especially not ones as dull as the Blacks.

Sirius looks over him. He’s wearing easy brown cord trousers and a crumpled shirt. His shoes are dirty white with three black stripes across the edges and words printed on the tongue and the laces are hanging out. He’s going to trip up on them if he’s not careful, but Sirius doesn’t tell him _‘tie your shoelaces!’_ because that’s something his Mother would say. They’re trainers- he tries to read the name on the tongue to know what make, because he saw a catalogue once filled with them- and they’re muggle.

His hair is midnight black and it’s tousled like he’s just fallen out of a Quidditch match, and he’s wearing round glasses, like orbs, made of wiry thin metal and he looks like he’s got a stick insect hanging from his ears, but Sirius doesn’t tell him that, either. In a couple of years James will arrive on the Hogwarts Express with great, thick black, square glasses that his Uncle Marius has acquired from somewhere because he thought they’d suit James and they’d make him look like Buddy Holly, but back at Hogwarts no one has any idea what that means. Eventually though, they’ll become his trademark. When a first year arrives sporting a pair in the same style he won’t be told he looks like Buddy Holly, he’ll be told he looks like James Potter. They’ll be synonymous with James and everyone will think that he wears them on purpose- to make himself look cool- and perhaps that is true to an extent, although given the choice James would certainly prefer good eyesight over _any_ glasses. But James will always be as blind as a bat, and he can’t see a bloody thing without his glasses, which is why he is wearing the silly, wire-framed glasses now. Soon the wire frames will become a nuisance because they’re bendy and they snap, and Remus will spend so much of his time fixing them- because James can’t see what to do and Sirius can’t stop laughing- that he’ll manage to perfect the charm so that he can perform it wordlessly.

But fixing his glasses is the least they can do because as Sirius will come to discover, James will do anything for anybody else. Nothing is too much trouble for James- he’d build time, catch smoke, breathe fire, if you asked him to- and he gives more than anybody expects. He’s eager to please and he’s filled with confidence- although it tiptoes on the edge of arrogance sometimes. He can talk for England, about anything and to anybody and he’ll strike up conversation with someone like he’s known them all his life.

That’s what Sirius is drawn to on the train. James knows nothing about Sirius- he does not know his family, he does not know his background- but Sirius feels like James is his best friend.

* * *

 It does not surprise him that James is a Potter- they’re an old pureblood family like Sirius’s but they don’t have that mania like the Blacks. The picture James paints that evening when the boys are in their dormitory is perfect and Sirius is more than a little envious. The doting mother and father, the escape from grimy London, the idyllic home in Godric’s Hollow with the church and the garden. 

But it isn’t just his home life that is a contrast to Sirius. James has been surrounded by Aurors and Ministry workers and good guys whilst Sirius has grown up with those that stretch the rules of the law and who hand over ill-gotten Galleon bribes. James has a contagious enthusiasm whereas Sirius has languid disinterest. He likes the early mornings whilst Sirius prefers the night full of stars. He’s quick to make friends but Sirius is often sullen. And James is far too trusting- it’s Sirius who is cautious of everyone.

As he falls asleep that evening, Sirius makes himself a resolution that he’ll spend seven years failing to achieve; he is going to be more like James Potter.

* * *

His new resolution to himself does not get off to a good start.

“Sirius,” someone is shaking him. “Sirius, get up!”

Sirius turns in the bed, blinks hazily, and looks around into the face of his new friend. He sits up suddenly in bed, his foggy grey eyes wide and panicked. “Am I late?” he asks blearily, looking across the room at Peter’s vacant and neatly made bed.

“You will be if you don’t get up soon.” Replies James.

There’s a bed to the side of him which is James’s and it’s still unmade but at least James is out of it. Peter is a self-starter, it seems, because James explains that he saw Peter getting ready this morning just as he was waking up, and Sirius has to stop himself from smiling at Peter’s eagerness.

Kicking the bedcovers away, Sirius leaps from his bed and grabs all his school clothes in one bunch. They’re hanging from the end of his bed where something- or someone, he rather suspects- has removed them from the trunk, hung them up, and attached his house crest to them overnight. He throws them back onto the unmade sheets and flips through them, searching for the right garment, throwing his bed clothes across the room as he messily changes. He ties his school tie in one swift movement that results in a rather haphazard knot that his father would be appalled by, but Sirius doesn’t care. He stuffs his feet into the same slick shoes he wore yesterday whilst he slides into his school blazer and pulls his robes on- robes in the deepest, richest black- and he hardly registers the lion emblazoning his chest.

Sirius is ready in minutes and James is gawping at him- he is still in his white school shirt and socked feet, with his shirt sloppily bunched around the waistband of his trousers.

“How’d you do that?” James asks.

Sirius shrugs. “What, get changed so fast?”

“No, tie your tie.”

Sirius sees that James’s tie is hanging around his neck and he is surprised that James has never had to wear a tie before- Sirius practically grew up in ties and ascots, wearing them to the countless stuffy parties his parents would throw. Sirius doesn’t laugh at James, instead he pulls his own tie out from beneath his jumper and undoes it.

“Pull the right end down,” He instructs. “No, the other right.”

James does as instructed and holds the wide end of the tie in his hand. Sirius demonstrates carefully so that James can copy, passing one end over the other, then looping it over and back and under and over again, until he passes the end underneath the loop and pulls it tight. It looks much neater now, and Sirius is quietly thankful. He appraises himself in the mirror, thinking of how furious his mother would be to see him in red and gold, when he catches a glimpse behind him. He looks over his shoulder and wonders if they should wake the boy, although it seems an awfully personal thing to do- but if he doesn’t wake soon, he’ll be late. Sirius nods at the boy on the bed. “Think we should wake-”

“Remus?” James fills in.

James pads across to Remus and pats him on the arm to wake him, slightly gentler than when he had woken Sirius. “Erm, Remus?” He pats him again. “Remus, get up.”

Remus shakes James’s hand off and turns over in the bed, pulling his duvet closer around him.

Sirius hadn’t expected to have to wake Remus up- he’d seemed so quiet and boring yesterday that Sirius had got the idea that he’d just fade into the background and they’d forget he was there. “Come on, Remus, time to go.” He yells, and drags the covers away. Sirius is the only one who’s had to do this before- he’s the only one who has a brother. Remus sits up suddenly, wiping sleep from his eyes. Sirius takes the clothes down from the hanger and tosses Remus’s robes over his shoulder- he tries not to notice how the faded grey stands out even more against his own black treacle robes- and bunches the trousers and the shirt, throwing them at Remus.

He extracts Remus’s red and gold tie and threads it around his own neck, tying it loosely in one careful yet complicated movement, and pulls it off over his head, chucking it at James, who’s yanking Remus off the bed whilst Remus tries to button his shirt with one hand and pull his trousers on with the other. James turns up Remus’s collar and slides the tie over, tightening it and straightening it. Sirius hopes they don’t notice that he’s done Remus’s tie slightly differently- its smarter, the knot is different, it threads over itself in three places- but it makes Remus look smart where his fraying trousers do not. Remus, still half-asleep, struggles into his jumper and shrugs on his school blazer whilst James straightens the shoulders for him.

“Have you got house-elves at home who usually do this, Remus?” Sirius teases as he stands behind him and passes his school robes over his arms, pulling it across his back. He pats him on the shoulder. “Now go and brush your hair,” he points the boy in the direction of the bathroom and as Remus shuts the door behind him, Sirius turns to James, looking unbelievably put together- which is surprising considering he was still in bed less than fifteen minutes ago.

“Tidy boy like that, you’d think he’d have an alarm clock.” Sirius muses, but he wonders if he really thinks that- because he gets the feeling that Remus is not what they think.

* * *

 They find Peter in the Great Hall, having headed down to breakfast with some of the first year girls. Later, he’ll sit with the boys from the other houses during the lessons, and he’ll spend the evening talking with some second years in the common room. Peter seems happy enough to flit between groups, and Sirius supposes it’s nice that Peter is so willing to be friends with everyone, even if Sirius doesn’t fancy it himself.

Peter laughs a lot, and most of the time for poor Peter, it is at himself. He shoulders the role of fool with good grace and he makes James and Sirius laugh and he likes to make them laugh, because it makes him feel cool- so he sticks by them and marvels when people say hello to him in the corridor, and he likes when James or Sirius push him forward when someone’s feeling down, because ‘ _Peter always cheers us up’._ Sometime in their sixth year, someone will laugh _with_ him and he’ll marvel at how much nicer it is to be the comedian rather than the clown- and it will make him realise that James and Sirius have been laughing _at_ him the whole time.

But for now he’s happy to be the punchline of the jokes because it’s the first time he’s ever got any sort of attention. At home he never makes anyone else laugh; his mother is mad, his father is absent and his sister is a squib so there really isn’t a lot to laugh about but at Hogwarts he’s the joker, and it feels nice to have a place, because here he’s Peter- the funny one.

* * *

 James and Sirius stick together on their first day. The two boys sit happily beside each other in class and snicker together in the corridors, and they drag Remus around by his elbow whether he wants to follow them or not. 

If Remus hadn’t overslept, they get the idea that he would have been more than happy to go off alone, to have breakfast alone, and to sit in class alone. He doesn’t seem lonely, but rather, he seems quite happy to be by himself. Sirius tells James this, and James replies that he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope if he were left to his own devices. Sirius agrees- in fact, it’s the first thing he thinks they’ve got in common.

So it’s good, really, that Remus overslept, they decide. Because they’ve realised he’s brilliant- and he needs friends.

They soon learn that he is not plain at all. The mouse-brown hair, on closer inspection, is flecked through with rich russet and gold, and when it grows it’s uneven and shaggy, and his fringe does nothing except fall into his eyes- the flat, mud brown eyes that are not flat, they’re the colour of chestnuts and they swirl like molten chocolate, and they’re wide, so wide he looks permanently startled. There’s a depth behind them that no one will ever reach the bottom of, and they’re expressive; Remus Lupin can display a multitude of emotions with his eyes alone.

He can be blunt at times but there’s a tongue as sharp as knives in his mouth and Remus will be the only person who will ever win the last word against Sirius Black. His humour is quick as a flash, like lightning, and it cracks but it isn’t as sarcastic or cutting as Sirius’s can be, it’s smarter, keener.

His time-keeping, they will discover, is atrocious, and not just when it comes to mornings. They will have to tell Remus that lunch ends at 12:45 when really it ends at 1 so that he has a chance to get to his afternoon class on time, they will tell him that his detentions begin fifteen minutes before they do, and anytime they arrange anything they will have to tell Remus a time earlier that it really is.

“He’ll be late to his own funeral,” Sirius will lament, as they wait for him outside the castle gates one afternoon in their fifth year when they’re supposed to be going into Hogsmeade. In some, it could be an irritating trait but somehow in Remus it’s endearing.

He’s a paradox, he’s organised in a disorganised way; he keeps his belongings stored away in his trunk but when he opens the lid, it’s a mess of bundled clothes, sheaves of paper, open books and broken quills. His homework is always finished on time but no one else will have seen the frenzied rush as he sits on his bed in the dormitory and scribbles away late into the night.

There’s something cool about Remus and it doesn’t come from careless rebellion like Sirius, ineffable enthusiasm like James, or even an obliging nature like Peter. It seems to collect around his shoulders and Remus carries it with him with quiet oblivion. That’s Remus Lupin; from the outside, he’s collected and composed, but beneath it all he’s erratic and chaotic and that’s exactly why they like him.

They’ll call him an enigma, but it could apply to any of them. They’re the four Gryffindor boys and they’ll take over the school one day, but it won’t be for their loud and boisterous nature and their magnetism to mischief; it’s because each one of them is a riddle that no one will ever solve. 


	3. Flaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys that are brilliant are laced with flaws

They connect like constellations, they tell each other’s stories. They’re a nebula of energy and undiscovered secrets and they refract each other’s light until they sparkle through the dark. Sirius is the stars, Remus is the moon, and James is the sun. Peter is the black hole that would destroy them all.

Very few will ever unlearn the constellations. James is the centre of them and he’s incredibly perceptive; soon, he starts to unravel them like tapestries.

Sirius is named for a star and he shines brighter than any other. He’s the light in the dark, beautiful- and he’ll explode in a blazing burst like a supernova.

Perhaps it because he’s a Black that James is dazzled by him at first. He tells everyone at every chance he can get that he’s nothing like his family, but there’s a side of Sirius that _is_ like the Blacks; he can shout profanities louder than anyone else, he’s got a storming anger that clouds his face like thunder, a white-hot temper that’s erupts like a volcano- an explosion that takes everything else out with it. He’s a whirlwind in steel grey and James wonders why Sirius is a star when it should be a storm. When Sirius really gets into his stride, it’s frightening.

“That temper will land him in Azkaban,” Remus would mutter, when Sirius had slammed the door with such force that it shakes in its frame and he had marched off to find the object of his anger.

Peter cowers slightly on the opposite side of the room. “Poor Regulus,” He says, shaking his head, “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.”

It terrifies James, but it’s a temper that’s born of loyalty; Sirius will do whatever it takes to protect those that he keeps close. And James never thinks of how it will save his life, when they’re foolishly fighting in the Order, and he’s threatened with deadly curses and it’s the force of Sirius’s loyalty that explodes the room around them.

It’s the loyalty that sends Sirius to search for Peter. But when the Aurors snap the handcuffs on and Harry has been left alone, Sirius Black blames himself. He shouldn’t have exploded with fury and he shouldn’t have left Harry- because he’s the stars, and the stars provide the light when the sun goes down.

Remus is the moon, and he reflects everyone else’s light and that’s what makes him glow, but there’s a part that’s always hidden.

It takes time for James to become annoyed by Remus’s façade; he’s incorrigible, and he hides everything from them; he hides the werewolf, he hides the poverty, he hides the anguish. There’s more than two layers to Remus Lupin and even though James thinks he’s got him all worked out, he’s not as straight-forward as that, and the continual complexity and the constant secrets drives James to despair.

“What will we tell Remus?” Peter asks seriously, as the world rumbles outside and he stands with James and Sirius in the relative safety of the hallway of James’s cottage. “Should we tell him we’ve changed secret keepers?”

James shrugs carelessly. “We won’t tell him a thing,” he replies. “He’s used to secrets.”

But Remus is raised on secrets and it’s all he ever knows, and he thinks that if he doesn’t let anyone get too close then he can’t hurt them. The secrets eventually lead James to put his trust in the wrong person; when he thinks of Remus’s ability to bury secrets layer beneath layer, he thinks only of how secrets betray his trust, and not of how useful it is to hide mysteries with a calm disguise.

And when James is dead and Peter is dead and Sirius is in Azkaban, Remus Lupin blames himself- because if he hadn’t been half-hidden, perhaps they’d have trusted him, perhaps he could have helped- but he’s the moon, and he’s his own worst enemy.

James is the sun, the centre of it all, the ball of energy, radiating, but he’s fire and he’ll burn anything that gets too close.

He’s desperate for attention, he’s in need of an audience. And sometimes James just doesn’t understand that they need their space; he’ll keep Remus up throughout the night with midnight conversations when all Remus wants is to forget everything and sleep. “Remus, will you take me to the Shrieking Shack one night? I want to see inside.” He drags Sirius to the kitchens to the house-elves when Sirius would rather sit in the Great Hall above. “It’s full of house-elves apparently, come with me and we can find out.” He’ll distract Peter in the library when Peter would prefer to panic over the exam and revise alone. “Let’s revise potions together, Peter, you need my help…”

But it’s because he’s a pampered paragon from the moment he’s born, and when he arrives at Hogwarts, he’s faced with a strange sensation; he’s unsure of himself, and he’s hopeless when he’s left alone. He isn’t as effortlessly cool as Sirius, he isn’t as secretly interesting as Remus, and he isn’t as affable as Peter. He’s James Potter, the insecure nuisance- but he never thinks of how he’s the antidote to Remus’s sullenness, Sirius’s arrogance, and Peter’s anxiety, he just thinks of how he needs them and how he clings to them and how he’s probably just too much.

And Later, years later, when Lily’s lullaby floating down the stairs silences, when there’s a creaking of an opening gate and a pale green glow at the door, James curses his insecurity. He falls to the floor with a dull thud and counts them off one by one; Lily, Harry, Sirius, Remus, Peter- the ones he let get too close, and James Potter blames himself because he’s the sun and he drew them in with his energy and his fire, and now they’re all the ones he’s burned.

Peter’s the black hole, who’ll never truly be understood, and is filled with more secrets than the rest.

They don’t dislike Peter- how can they? He’s everybody’s friend- but that’s where his downfall begins. He’s a networker; he makes lots of powerful friends, and they’re too trusting to realise.

It would be this lack of loyalty that drives Peter to jump between sides.

Peter likes friends that can offer him something. Remus is kind and is drawn to the underdog, and little, weedy Peter Pettigrew finds himself benefiting from this. He struggles with foot after foot of homework but Remus offers to help, even though he can hardly finish his own homework on time. When Peter accidentally sends a Shrivelfig flying and it ricochets across the room and knocks over a burly Slytherin’s cauldron during one dreary Potions lesson, it is Remus- so much bigger, and quicker at casting hexes than Peter- who takes the blame.

Remus is so grateful for his friends that he’ll do anything for them.

Peter realises he can manipulate Remus’s kindness; first, he does Peter’s homework, later he’ll take the wrap for Peter’s mistakes, and eventually- although unknowingly to Remus- he’ll take the brunt of the rising suspicions that should fall on Peter. Remus never realises that his kindness comes at a cost.

Sirius is of benefit to Peter, too. Peter sees Sirius’s boiling temper against the sixth year Slytherins who had tried to mock him and he realises how useful it will be to have Sirius as an ally. He’s proved right when they reach fourth year and his classmates discover his sister is a squib and they christen Peter with a derogatory nickname and Sirius is so indignant on his behalf that he hexes them with the sort of hex that would make the Dark Lord proud. Of course it backfires when Sirius hunts Peter down on Halloween years later and he’s on the receiving end of that anger as Sirius threatens him with those same hexes.

But Peter sees his opportunity and takes it. He relies on the notoriety of Sirius’s supernova temper and so when Sirius is shouting his threats and his anger is bubbling over, Peter explodes the street around him and no-one suspects that little Peter Pettigrew was behind it all; it’s Sirius who is locked away for his troubles. And Sirius’s fierce loyalty- and its ensuing temper- comes at a cost, as well.

Being friends with James brings benefits, too. He’s the centre of attention and being friends with him means that they are all the centre of attention and this is the reason the rest of the school knows Peter’s name. He is never without an acquaintance to sit with and talk to, which is useful when Sirius and James are in detention and Remus is in the library, or otherwise occupied. Being friends with James means that you’ve earned James’s trust, and it’s like a seal of approval.

And this seal of approval proves very useful for Peter because he puts himself into a position to be chosen as their Secret Keeper, and he can hand the Potters’ whereabouts over to another charismatic individual who draws Peter in with their ego and their influence. And there’s a cost to James’s popularity and his friendship with Peter- it costs him his life.

And Peter blames James, for his far-too-trusting nature, and he blames Sirius, for thinking he knows what’s best, and he blames Remus, for never standing up for himself when they doubted him, and Peter Pettigrew never blames himself for the mess he causes.

They were Peter’s friends, but Peter was never theirs.


	4. Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius’s brother arrives, but he dares anyone to recognise the connection.

_September, 1972._

When they start second year, a boy arrives, Regulus, who’s the spitting image of Sirius. They have the same handsome, careful features, all razor sharp contours and cut-glass, but Regulus’s face is longer and more pointed. His hair is the exact same shade of charcoal as Sirius’s, but it’s shorter round the ears and piled high on top, tousled and rolled back like waves. There’s a delicate air to Regulus; his shoulders are narrower, he’s a slighter build, more pristine, and he looks like one gust of wind could knock him over whereas Sirius looks like he could weather the storm.

The resemblance between Sirius and Regulus is breath-taking but there’s a hex on offer for anyone who mentions it. James needs to ask, though- it’s his persistent curiosity- and he reckons he can get away with it because he’s Sirius’s best friend. So he ventures for it one day, when they’re in their dormitory and James is sitting crossed legged on his bed and Sirius has artistically draped himself across his own. James musters up his courage and asks, “the boy in first year, the one with your surname, is he a cousin, or is he your brother?”

There’s an audible intake of breath in the dormitory and Remus and Peter wait.

The thunder in Sirius’s raincloud eyes rumbles and he glares up from below his eyelashes. “My brother,” he huffs.

Remus sits up on his bed and scoots to the end, until his legs dangle over the edge, and James looks startled. “Regulus?” He asks bluntly. “I remember his name from the Sorting.”

“And?” Sirius growls.

“Well, it’s been three weeks,” Remus points out, “and you haven’t spoken to him once.”

He scoffs contemptuously. “I don’t speak to him at home, why would I speak to him at school?”

James doesn’t want to laugh, but the idea of Sirius and his brother wandering through their stuffy Islington palace in silence is rather funny. “He doesn’t look too good, mate.”

“That’s because he’s a Black.” Sirius replies waspishly.

“No,” James begins again, determined to make his point. “I mean, he looks sort of…” he weighs his words to find the most suitable, “ _sad_.” James says tentatively, and Remus throws him an apprehensive look.

“He’s a miserable git. Probably moping because _Mummy_ isn’t here to tie his shoelaces for him.” Sirius starts scuffing his shoes on the floor and James does the wise thing not to point out that he’s seen Regulus do the exact same thing in the corridors as he waits outside his classes.  

“Yeah, well, maybe he could do with a brother.” James would love a little brother, and he feels somewhat irritated that Sirius could be so callous towards his own family.

“He needs a good shake,” Sirius sits up arrogantly and folds his arms. “Reg is pathetic, I’m not getting involved.” And with that, Sirius huffs out of their dormitory.

They must have been friends once, James thinks- because otherwise Sirius wouldn’t have ever given him a nickname, and for the rest of their Hogwarts career, James never once hears anyone else call him Reg.

* * *

 Seven-year old Regulus creeps to the top of the house and presents a squashed napkin to his brother. “Why can’t you eat with us?” He asks, as Sirius unwraps the napkin and frowns at the lone bread roll inside.

“Because I don’t want to.” Sirius replies aloofly, tearing a chunk from the miserable-looking roll.

Regulus stands nervously beside the door. “Why not?” He says.

Sirius shrugs. “Because mum’s stupid.”

“Why do you think she’s stupid?” Regulus creeps closer into the room.

Sirius flounces back onto his bed, sitting up so that he can look out the window. The rain beats against the window panes, counting down like the ticking of a clock. “Because of what she tells us.”

“What do you mean?”

Resigned to the fact he will not be left alone, Sirius gets back up and walks around the room to face Regulus, who’s taken up a cosy position perched on the other side of the bed. “All that pureblood nonsense.” Sirius explains, with a tired air. “She keeps talking like purebloods are better than everyone else, but why? What’s wrong with muggles?”

“They’re dirty and stupid.” Regulus replies instinctively, repeating the opus he’s been bidden to memorise.

Sirius looks almost pityingly at his brother. “Really, Reg? We’ve never met any, how can we know that?”

“Because mum says so.”

“Exactly, and mum’s stupid!” Sirius repeats with a resigned sigh. “She’s a mad old hag and she hates everyone-”

Regulus is staring at the door with wide eyes. “Sirius.” He interrupts.

Sirius ignores him. “-who isn’t pureblood but if you ask me, I think purebloods are worse than anyone else-”

“Sirius!” Regulus almost shouts. Sirius follows his eyes, staring at a spot behind him, and he turns to see Kreacher the house-elf skulking outside the doorway. Kreacher’s mother has recently died, and as such Kreacher is now the sole house-elf to the noble and ancient House of Black- a hallowed role he’s taken with much enthusiasm. He snarls cruelly at Sirius before muttering something to himself and disappearing into the shadows.

Sirius’s face drains of colour and his eyes stare in panic. The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. “How long was he there?” He eventually asks.

“Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?!” He turns on Regulus with a frantic fire in his eyes. “He’s going to go and tell mum and she’ll be furious!”

Regulus jumps from the bed, startled at the look on Sirius’s face. “I couldn’t just tell you Kreacher was there, that would be strange!” He argues.

Sirius sighs heavily before he nods dolefully in agreement, but there’s still a haunted look in his eyes as if he fears for his life.

“We need a secret code that no one knows except us so we can warn each other.” Regulus says, laughing uneasily to break the tension.

Sirius scoffs. “Secret code? Reg, you read too many detective stories.”  

* * *

 Eight year old Regulus has been told something he doesn’t understand and he finds himself going to his brother for help.

“What does mum mean, when she says _‘Slytherin would be proud’_?” He asks Sirius, who’s sitting up on his bed sulking and scuffing his feet on the wooden floor.

At the sound of Regulus’s voice, the scuffing stops and Sirius turns his head to look towards the door. “Slytherin’s some demented old wizard who wanted to rid the world of mudbloods.” He tells Regulus. “He’s one of the founders of Hogwarts, that’s why there’s a house named after him.”

Regulus sits on the bed with his back to Sirius. “So, why would he be proud?”

“I don’t know.” Sirius replies carelessly, turning to look out of the window again. He’s spent so much of his time staring out of that window that he’s memorised every fleck of dirt on the panes. “Did you do something stupid? Like spit on a mudblood or burn a muggle?”

“What’s it like to be a Slytherin at Hogwarts?” Regulus asks.

“I don’t know, Reg. I’m not at Hogwarts yet, remember.” Sirius points out. “And I’m not going in Slytherin, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?”

Sirius frowns. “Well, everyone’s in Slytherin.”

Regulus looks back, his eyes filled with an innocence that Sirius wants to laugh at. “So you’ll be with all our family!” Regulus reminds him. “Narcissa, and Bellatrix and Andromeda!”

“I don’t want to be with them, they’re all idiots.”

“Sirius-”

He’s in full flow and ignores Regulus’s interruption. “And Bellatrix is mental and they all think that it means something to be pureblood and they all laugh at muggles, but really, Reg, what’s so wrong with muggles?! I keep asking but no one can tell me!”

“Sirius!”

Sirius feels an elbow jam sharply into his back. “What?” He growls, shoving his own elbow into Regulus’s back before turning to face him. His attention is caught by a shadow flickering against the wall in the hallway, and the creaking of the wooden floor. Sirius can tell from the way the shadow falls that it is not their mother- it’s a male figure, he’s sure- and it is not their father, it’s far too short, so it must be their Uncle Alphard, who has been staying with them over the week to attend business at the Ministry.

Regulus must have seen him too. “Do you think he’s going to tell mum?” Sirius asks quietly.

“Probably.” Regulus shrugs. “I bet you wish we’d invented that secret code.”

“Shut up, Reg.” Sirius elbows Regulus in the back again and the brothers sit in silence for a moment.

“Sirius,” Regulus suddenly asks, his voice grave. ““Why can’t you just ask to be put somewhere?”

“What?”

“At Hogwarts.” Regulus clarifies.

Sirius laughs to himself. “That’s not how it works. You put this hat on and it sorts you into your house, that’s why it’s the _Sorting_ Hat. It looks in your head and decides where you should go from that.”

“But Sirius,” Regulus says. “It’s a _hat._ Why do you have to listen to what a _hat_ says?”

“I don’t know. It’s just one of those things, isn’t it?” Replies Sirius. “I don’t want to go in Slytherin, I’d go anywhere else if I could, but I’m not clever enough for Ravenclaw, I’m not brave enough for Gryffindor, and I’m not nice enough for Hufflepuff.”

Regulus frowns in confusion and he can tell that Sirius doesn’t want to answer any more of his persistent questions, but he just doesn’t understand why Sirius couldn’t go in whichever Hogwarts house he wants- Sirius is his brother, and he’s the cleverest, bravest, and nicest person Regulus knows.

* * *

 The parties are not what nine year old Regulus would consider fun, but he goes along with them, and at least he has a better time than his brother does. They stand together, following their parents around the room and greeting their parents’ friends. They’re the heir and the spare; Sirius is presented first, the firstborn heir and the better son, and he scowls at them with conceit. Regulus smiles politely and knows that they’ll all remember Sirius, but they’ll forget Regulus’s name before the evening is over.  

“Mum said we can talk to the Rosier twins.” He tells Sirius, who is pulling at the buttons on his waistcoat as if they’re digging into him like pins.

“I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to talk to anyone.” Sirius says scathingly, folding his arms.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re all the same!” He replies, sounding irritated.

Their mother is talking with another lady, one who is just as tall and severe and full of sharp laughter and ingratiating smiles. Regulus points at the two blonde-haired children standing beside the two women. “Mum likes the Rosier twins. I bet they’re not the same as everyone else.”

Sirius’s laughter is hollow. “I bet they think mudbloods are filthy. I bet everyone here thinks that.”

Regulus catches a snatch of their conversation and the women turn to look at the two brothers. “Sirius, what does ‘ _betroth_ ’ mean?” Regulus whispers.

“I don’t know.” Sirius’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “Why?”

Regulus shrugs and looks around the room at the rest of the people gathered there, their parents friends, all dressed up in feathers and velvet and sparkling gems. Does everyone here think that mudbloods are filthy? If so many believe it, surely it must be true? “Sirius,” Regulus asks. “Are mudbloods filthy?”

Sirius looks down at his little brother but there is no hint of a scathing scowl on his face. “I don’t know.” He admits. “But just because mum and dad say it, why should we believe it?”

* * *

 Ten year old Regulus is excited for his brother to come home over the Christmas holidays. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since he and Kreacher dropped Sirius off at Platform Nine and three-quarters on the first of September and the days he’s had to pass alone in Grimmauld Place have seemed twice as long as usual.

There has only been one letter from Hogwarts, arriving the day after Sirius left, but it was from their cousin Narcissa and told of Sirius’s sorting. Their parents barely spoke of Sirius for some weeks after. Then several more letters arrived from Hogwarts- official looking letters from the teachers with the Hogwarts crest stamped on the back- and they were all tossed into the fire. There have been no letters from Sirius and so Regulus assumes that Sirius has just been too busy to write to his little brother, but he can’t wait to hear all about Hogwarts. He cannot wait to hear about Sirius’s new friends, he cannot wait to hear about the spells he has learnt and the potions he has brewed. Most importantly, though, Regulus cannot wait to hear what the other children are like; what the halfbloods and the muggleborns are like.

But Sirius never comes home for Christmas. It isn’t until the summer that Regulus sees him again, but he and Kreacher do not accompany him home from the station, and when Sirius arrives at Grimmauld Place he runs to his room, slams the door, and doesn’t come back out.

* * *

 Eleven year old Regulus expects school to be like home, with a brother that barely acknowledges his existence- and that, he thinks, he could cope with. But the indifference from Sirius is nothing compared to the attention from others. He sees the looks shared between the teachers first, then he hears the whispers along the house table and in the common room. There’s a shared feeling that spreads between his housemates when the Sorting Hat cries Slytherin, because they all expect him to be like his brother; they expect him to be a rebel. They expect him to cast off the pure-blood elitism that the others believe in and they expect him to be as disparaging of Slytherins as Sirius is.

It isn’t until Regulus arrives at Hogwarts that he starts to despise it- he’s _always_ Sirius’s little brother.  He is always being compared against Sirius. And its Sirius’s complete disregard of him that makes him hate the similarities; all he wants to do is prove that he is _nothing like_ Sirius.

Sirius never shows an interest in Quidditch so Regulus decides he will make the house team. His slight frame makes him quick and nimble on a broomstick, and when he comes home over the summer after his first year and Sirius sulks in his bedroom, Regulus asks Kreacher to hide tiny gems all over the house and by the time he returns to Hogwarts in September, Regulus is like a magpie and he can spot anything that glints and shines; he is the perfect seeker.

Sirius hates his pureblood ancestry and so Regulus studies their family tree until he knows it by heart and he’s never know his mother to be prouder of him. He paints their family crest on his bedroom wall and he drapes Slytherin banners across the furniture and he keeps clippings from the Daily Prophet of impressive shows of Dark Arts. Everything that Sirius hates, Regulus plasters onto the walls of his bedroom.

At Hogwarts he joins the right crowd, makes friends with the right people, agrees with the right things- all traits that would make his parents proud. They’re not necessarily things he would choose to do but he’s too busy proving he isn’t like his brother to bother about what he really believes in. He sticks on the right side of the school rules and he never gets caught, and he keeps his head down to avoid detentions whilst his brother whiles away evening after evening in a teacher’s company. Until eventually, they share nothing but a surname and the school seems to forget they’re even related.

But that’s why they’re exactly the same. They’ll do anything to prove people wrong.

And no-one else notices it except James Potter, because he looks at people like they’re books to be read and he unravels them, deciphering the writing that is scrawled across their hearts. He knows Sirius Black does not deserve his name’s reputation, he knows Remus Lupin is not as calm as he appears, he knows Lily Evans is not a clueless muggleborn, and he knows Regulus is not the antagonist his brother presents him as.

Shortly after the start of their second year, and just a few days after that first conversation in their dormitory when James had asked Sirius about his brother, James sees Regulus waiting outside the transfiguration classroom.

“Hi, Regulus.” James offers. By some miracle- or rather, a lunchtime detention- James is without Sirius. He smiles at Regulus and takes the moment to look at him carefully. Regulus’s eyes hold the same haughty look that James has so often caught in Sirius’s and a sneering scowl rolls along his nose- but while Sirius has that single sunbeam that breaks through his raincloud eyes and softens his conceit, and the goofy grin that’s charming and makes Sirius seem human, Regulus’s eyes are flat black, like tar, and hauntingly eerie.

Regulus, the boy who looks so much like James’s best friend, is torn between being polite or staying alive. Because if he doesn’t reply, he’s rude, but if he does and Sirius finds out, Sirius will curse him. Regulus opts for a stifled nod- it’s the most he can manage- and it surprises James. From the way Regulus had stared at him, from out of those devil’s eyes, and from the way Sirius spoke of him, he’d braced himself for a curse. He’d been wrong to expect one.

* * *

“I saw Regulus in the corridor the other day, outside the transfiguration classroom.” James tells Sirius. It has now been a month since Regulus started school, and Sirius has still not spoken to him. “He seems alright.”

Sirius huffs dramatically. “He’s not. He’s an idiot.” He flips himself over on the bed so he’s facing away from James.

James shrugs, addressing Sirius’s sulking back. “Well, maybe you just don’t know him that well.”


End file.
